


Charcoal Smears

by quodpersortem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek can Laugh, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn Without Plot, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/quodpersortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can hear Stiles curse long before he arrives at the clearing. It’s eleven pm, rainy, and though the air is quiet at the moment, the thunderstorm can return any moment.</p><p>He opens the door and allows Stiles to stroll in without a question. He looks pissed off, enough to almost make Derek snicker, and most of his clothes are caked in mud. Derek can’t see it but he can smell there’s blood mixed in with the earth somewhere as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charcoal Smears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purloinedinpetrograd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purloinedinpetrograd/gifts).



Derek can hear Stiles curse long before he arrives at the clearing. It’s eleven pm, rainy, and though the air is quiet at the moment, the thunderstorm can return any moment.

He opens the door and allows Stiles to stroll in without a question. He looks pissed off, enough to almost make Derek snicker, and most of his clothes are caked in mud. Derek can’t see it but he can smell there’s blood mixed in with the earth somewhere as well.

“What-“ is all he gets to say before Stiles cuts him off.

“Scott decided it would be a good, no, a _great_ idea to show me this new place he found in the woods, where I might eventually want to bring a chick, once I find someone who likes me, except then some freaking animal came out of the woods and I don’t even _know_ what it was but it attacked us.” He stops to breathe and then rolls his eyes at Derek. “Of course, I’ve had to save _him_ because he’s inept at doing _anything_ , except fucking Allison apparently because they keep doing that.” Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles, a warning that he should stop talking. “Right. Yeah. Too much information.”

“So, why are you here?” 

“Dad’s home and I figured you must have a shower here? I mean, I can wash my clothes in the tub or something, wet’s fine but it’s just, all this _mud_ -“

“And blood,” Derek nods. 

“What?” Stiles’ eyes widen. “Wait, blood? There’s _blood_?” He looks down at his body but, like Derek, doesn’t see anything.

“I can smell it on you,” Derek clarifies. 

“Shitshitshit _shit_ ,” Stiles mutters and Derek wonders if he’ll start spinning circles now trying to find the wound, like a dog chasing its own tail.

“You’ll be fine,” he sighs. “And yeah, you can use the shower.”

He shows Stiles where it is—it’s the only functional upstairs room besides his bedroom—and then neglects to tell him that while yes, he does have running water, no it is not heated. 

Not a minute passes by before he can hear Stiles _yelp_ at the same time something _rips_ , probably the shower curtain. Because this is Stiles and Derek pretends to have no respect for his privacy anyway (he has his reasons), he walks into the bathroom and asks calmly, “Is everything okay?”

Stiles is staring at him, draped in half a curtain. “No, of course not. Oh my god. I hate you. I _hate_ you. I wish you weren’t a werewolf so killing you would be _easier_. You couldn’t have told me you don’t have heated water over here? Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Derek smirks and Stiles grunts. “Of course. You never laugh but you think this is funny. Freak.”

“Have you found the wound yet?” he asks Stiles then and Stiles shakes his head. “Turn around.”

Stiles is strangely compliant, though maybe he’s figured out that it’s just for his own wellbeing. Derek spots it right away—a long cut running from his lower back diagonally up to his middle where it’s more shallow. 

“Don’t move,” he warns Stiles before touching the edges of the wound, pulling them apart. He can hear Stiles hiss. After a careful examination, Derek tells Stiles, “It’s not too deep, you probably won’t need stitches, but there’s some mud in it. How’d you get this?”

“I didn’t even know I had it,” Stiles says as he turns around again. “I fell on my back at some point, maybe I hit a stone. I don’t know.” He’s looking chagrined and Derek doesn’t blame him. “Can you leave me alone so I can take a shower now?”

“The wound has to be cleaned,” Derek tells him and he’s managed to keep his eyes away from Stiles’ body until now. The shower curtain clings to him, giving him a clear view of everything that’s going on underneath it. He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat speed up a little under his gaze.

“Okay,” Stiles says and his voice trembles a little. “Yeah, okay.” He’s blushing, from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, from where the shower curtain cuts off Derek’s view. He’d love to-

“Turn around.” He can’t let himself think like that. Instead, he takes off his shirt so it won’t get wet and takes the shower head before he kneels behind Stiles. Stiles drops the curtain and he’s shivering, probably from the cold. The general area of the wound feels feverish to Derek’s touch though. 

Stiles turns on the tap and Derek carefully positions the spray above the wound. Stiles is shivering even harder now, his skin covered in goose bumps. Derek uses a washcloth to wipe away the grit and make it fast as possible, ignoring the pained sounds escaping from Stiles’ mouth. Then he drops the showerhead to the floor and uses both of his hands to examine the cut again, to see if there’s any dirt left.

Derek can hear that Stiles’ heartbeat is still too quick, and—for God’s sake. He’d have thought a cold shower would be enough to keep Stiles’ hormones from responding to a foreign body’s touch, but apparently it didn’t. He can smell it clearer than usual because Stiles isn’t wearing clothes. 

Stiles shivers under his touch. “Your hands are warm,” he says. “Like, so so warm. A furnace. No wonder you don’t really need hot water. Is this a werewolf thing?”

“Shhh,” Derek tells him as he gets up. The wound looks clean. “I’ll leave you to the shower,” embarrassed about his hoarse voice. He shifts a little, his cock feeling uncomfortably hard in the front of his jeans. He didn’t even notice that his pants are mostly soaked until now.

“It’s,” Stiles swallows and picks up the showerhead and hands it back to Derek. He’s still with his back towards Derek. Derek thinks Stiles’ eyes flick down to look at his crotch but he’s not sure—maybe that’s wishful thinking. “I’m so cold, I can’t even move my hands.” Stiles is blushing again, or maybe he blushed the entire time Derek’s helped him.

“Okay,” Derek nods as he swallows thickly. His mouth has gone dry; his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, heavy and thick. He picks up the washcloth again and starts to work on Stiles’ back, washing mud off his shoulders. He’s careful to avoid any—sensitive places.

“Can you-“ Stiles stutters, and Derek _knows_ that must be the cold. “Can you use your hands? At least you’re warm.”

Little rivulets of mud drip down from Stiles’ hair when Derek washes it. 

Somehow, it isn’t much of a surprise when Stiles leans back into him, pressing their bodies flush together. Derek has a clear view of Stiles’ front then—his cock half-hard, his nipples tiny pin-pricks. Stiles doesn’t shiver as hard, not anymore. His eyes are closed and Derek wonders if Stiles can feel his own erection, still pressing against the front of his jeans and now also against Stiles’ bare ass. Probably. 

When he’s cleaned Stiles, he hands him a towel and uses another to dab at the wound. It’s still bleeding a little but at least it’s clean. Then he dries off himself while he considers to remove his pants but that’s probably a really bad idea. His restraint has been crumbling ever since he’s seen Stiles _naked_.

When he looks up, Stiles has turned around and is looking at him with half lidded eyes, with an expression on his face clearly asking _Well, are you going to make a move?_

Derek wants to say, _No_ and _This is a very bad idea, Stiles._ He wants to tell Stiles that the last time he was involved with someone, it ended with his family dead. 

But really, they’ve been circling around each other for long enough now. Derek knows that no matter how good he’s become at controlling himself, he will snap at some point. Or else Stiles will make him. 

Besides, there’s no use in pretending that Stiles is hard just because of some harmless physical contact or being naked in front of someone else—he showers after Lacrosse practice too after all. It’s all Derek, only Derek. Derek can smell it, he can hear it, all of his senses focused on how much Stiles actually _wants_ him. (And that’s different, he reminds himself, Ka- _she_ just wanted his body. Her smell didn’t appeal to Derek at all. There was no chemistry there, just wishful thinking and lust.)

“Shit, Derek,” Stiles grunts and Derek knows he’s waited a heartbeat too long. 

“Wait,” he tells Stiles when he wants to pass by Derek. And Derek really, really doesn’t know what else to do so he grabs Stiles’ shoulders and presses a kiss to the boy’s mouth. Stiles goes rigid under his touch, but only for a moment. Then he’s moving, his hands on Derek’s face, his neck, pushing into his hair. 

“You’re so warm,” Stiles mutters into Derek’s skin when he breaks the kiss. 

“Yeah,” Derek sighs and he resists the urge to pull Stiles closer. “C’mon, your wound has to be dressed. Just that it’s clean doesn’t mean it won’t get dirty.”

“Ooh, dirty with what?” Stiles asks as he waggles his eyebrows and Derek decides to just ignore him. Instead he makes his way over to the bedroom, leaving a trail of drops that fall from his jeans, and Stiles follows him. He gets the box from underneath his bed and takes out some bandages and tape.

“Come here,” he tells Stiles, “lean over.” Stiles puts his hands on the bed and spreads his legs a little, cock bobbing up between his legs and Derek runs a finger down his spine. Stiles groans a little and Derek trails down to where the crack of the boy’s ass starts, but no further. Stiles whimpers.

The blood has stopped running, mostly, so Derek puts the gauzes over the wound, four layers thick. He has to use two patches of gauze before he’s got the complete wound area covered, and then uses the medical tape to stick it to Stiles’ skin. 

“You’re not going to send me home now, are you?” Stiles asks, sounding a little flustered, so Derek pushes him down on to the bed. “Umph, okay, you so did not have to do that,” Stiles keeps babbling as he turns around to look at Derek. “I’m hurt, you shouldn’t be pushing me around _at all_ in fact. Who knows, you could rip out the wound? You could make it bleed again!”

“If I shouldn’t be _touching_ you,” Derek dryly replies, “then why are you still here?”

“Fine,” Stiles gives in and throws his hands up which, huh, is a lot easier than Derek would’ve thought. He’d expected at least one _fuck you!_ “Just take off your pants, then.”

“Only if you get under the blankets,” Derek tells him because the kid’s still shivering. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him (and fuck, that’s _adorable_ ) but does so anyway.

“Just don’t blame me if you get stains everywhee-“ Stiles says as Derek shoves down his pants and underwear and kicks the wet clothes aside. “Woah. _Woah._ ”

Derek hums as he gets under the blankets next to Stiles. “What, woah?” He slides a hand down Stiles’ side, who immediately arches up into the touch. Shit. 

“Just, _you_ ” Stiles mumbles as he starts to blush again. He quickly kisses Derek and Derek thinks that might be because Stiles is hoping that way he won’t blurt out any more embarrassing things.

Stiles’ skin is soft though, wonderfully soft, and Derek thinks that they aren’t touching nowhere near enough so he reaches for Stiles under the blankets and hauls him on top of him. “Hey,” he says before he kisses Stiles again, sliding one hand to Stiles’ neck to keep him in place, fingers brushing Stiles’ buzzed hair, while he uses the other to trail down Stiles’ back. 

“Hey,” Stiles replies as he nips on Derek’s lip. He moves his cock against Derek’s thigh, and one of Stiles’ legs is between Derek’s. Derek grabs hold of Stiles’ thigh, brushing his balls—and Stiles moans at that—and pulls at him until their dicks are rubbing together. Derek can feel precome leaking from Stiles’ dick and he’s fairly sure his own cock is just adding to the mess.

“Shit, shit,” Stiles mutters in the crook of Derek’s neck when Derek grabs his thighs to move him on, “I’m so hard, Derek, _fuck_ your body is amazing, you don’t know how often I’ve thought about this, but it must’ve been, like, _all_ the time-“

“Did you get off on that?” Derek whispers and then he nips at Stiles’ ear. A shudder runs through the boy’s body. 

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs, “Every. Single. Day.” The words are emphasized with thrusts of his hips that make Derek groan in return. 

“Tell me.”

“I’ll show you,” Stiles says and kisses Derek again, tongues slipping together, before he moves to sit up, straddling Derek’s thighs. Their cocks are still pressed together at the base and Derek watches as Stiles gingerly touches his erection before closing his fist around it. “Feels a little different,” Stiles smiles at Derek as he experimentally strokes Derek’s dick a few times, gauging his reactions. “You should see yourself. You look so hot. _So_ hot.”

“You were going to show me something,” Derek grunts and bucks up his hips.

Stiles hums as he sets up a slow pace. “I’d start like this, see, I’d pretend it was your hand on my dick. Slow. I tried to remember your breathing, so I could match that.” Derek knows Stiles can feel his cock twitch at that, but it doesn’t show—Stiles still has his mouth half opened, he’s flushed all the way down to the trail of hair on his stomach and he is breathing fast. 

“Then,” Stiles brings up his hand to spit into it a couple of times before he brings it back to Derek’s dick, “I’d move a little faster. Like this.” And Derek doesn’t know what Stiles does, but jesus, all those years he must’ve spent jerking himself off have paid themselves off because this move has his entire _body_ twitch and arch up into the touch. “Special technique,” Stiles grins proudly, before he reaches down between Derek’s legs and cups his balls.

“F-f- _fuck_ ,” Derek manages to bite out and he can feel his fangs grow as he struggles to keep himself from coming. He’s holding on to Stiles’ wrist and Stiles stares at him with drooping eyes and a gaping mouth. “C’mere.”

Then they’re kissing again and Derek, he’s so hard by now and he keeps rutting up against Stiles’ body—there are hands pushed between their stomachs but he can’t tell who they belong to, fingers brushing cocks and balls and at some point he wraps both of his arms around Stiles to hold him close as possible but that’s not working because there isn’t enough space to move. Stiles is muttering things, keening sounds interspersed with _fuck_ and _hot_ and _fantastic_ and _I’m having sex_. It amuses Derek as much as it turns him on—which is to say, a lot.

Eventually he pushes his hand between their bodies again, not so much because he doesn’t think he can’t come like this but because he needs it now now _now_ , his body feels like it’s ready to burst and he’s afraid he’ll involuntarily let his wolf loose. Stiles gives him some space so he can wrap his hand around both of their cocks at once and then he starts to yank at them, fast.

The friction is fantastic in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and he’s barely thought that when Stiles’ body goes rigid while he moans into Derek’s skin, his cock spurting thick strings of semen between their bodies and onto their cocks; Derek’s hand. 

Derek lets go of Stiles then. He makes a tight fist around his own dick and the slick feeling of the semen combined with the sounds Stiles made still echoing in his head is enough to tip him over the edge. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathes after a while, still on top of Derek. “Oh my god. I had sex. I had actual _sex_. With a hot guy. If you want me to move by the way, you’ll have to push me off. I can’t _move_ and this is fantastic. Can we do this more often? Because I want this, like, all the time from now on.” 

Derek just huffs and pushes Stiles off him. “You should go home.” 

“Party pooper,” Stiles tells him and Derek just shakes his head, grinning a little.

“I’m trying to keep your father on my side. Besides, no matter how appealing you look right now, you need a shower.” 

Stiles sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine, if you really want me out of here, I guess I’ll just- My clothes are wet though.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Borrow some of mine. One of your shirts has to be around here somewhere, actually.” 

And really, what else can he do but enjoy the view of Stiles walking around in his room, still naked, muttering about how everyone just seems to want to tell him what to do while he’s really got a mind of his own.

(“You don’t deserve one,” Derek tells him at one point, in return of which Stiles smacks him around the head first, then looks smug, but eventually he kisses him anyway because “one of us has to be the kind one”).

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I was supposed to be doing ~other~ (though equally useless) things when I wrote this but then I told purloinedinpetrograd that I’d write her a fic in honor of her having to shower with cold water so YEAH THEN THIS HAPPENED. I regret nothing.
> 
> Also it was going to be pwp but when I was 1000 words in I realised that was not going to happen. So it’s a bit plotty, h/c and only then porn. Gddamnit. 
> 
> The title was taken from a song by Andrew Bird called Cataracts. Check it out, it’s awesome. It also means nothing in this context I just like the way it looks (also the line before the title one is “Restless Longing”).
> 
> Technically unbeta’d. But hey, ‘tis porn so who cares (apart from the people who care).


End file.
